Lord of Fire,Lady of Ice(77)

“I don’t see why you laugh.” Della turned her icy thorns to her husband. The amusement faded from his eyes. “You are just as low as him at this moment, discussing private matters for all to hear. It’s shameful and it’s most disrespectful to me.”

Brant met her gaze boldly and Stuart looked sheepishly away. She couldn’t tolerate either one of them at that moment, so she did the only thing she could think of. She ran out of the hall and into the kitchen.



“Methinks you have your answer.” Brant stood, intent on following his wife as soon as he was able. He set the game piece he clutched on the board. It hadn’t been his intention to humiliate her, but he’d been so angry at Stuart’s implications. “Methinks it’s time you left Strathfeld—permanently.”

Stuart stood. “Nay, it has only begun between us, Blackwell.”

“Do not threaten me, little man. I would think naught of beating you within an inch of your life.” Brant turned to Gunther. “See him out.”

Gunther nodded, clearly intent on forcing the smaller man if he had to. He reached for Stuart’s arm, who jerked his elbow away.

“It’s not a threat, but a warning.” Stuart glared at Brant and then Gunther before storming out of the hall. As Gunther followed him into the bailey yard, he heard the irate man swear, “I will have back what is rightfully mine!”





Chapter Thirteen




The soft blue glow of the moonlit sky bathed the ground in its splendor, feeding the isolation of Della’s soul. She shivered uncontrollably. In the distance, she heard the sound of laughter from the soldiers as they played games in the exercise field. Their excited cheers rose and fell in the merriment. Della had no desire to join their sports, choosing instead to be alone. However, knowing they were nearby was oddly comforting.

She couldn’t believe Brant and Stuart’s excessive competition over her. Though flattered by the attention, she hated to see the two men she cared for at war. She wondered if she should have left them alone together. It was very likely they would kill each other before the night was through.

Della walked by her garden in silence, enjoying the privacy afforded by the night. She kicked at a weed that dared to poke through the rich soil. Tired of the fighting, she wished for once the land could be at peace with no wars, no bloodshed, and no family members dying. Even more, she wished her heart could be at peace with no pain, no sleepless nights, no all-consuming loneliness.

The squeak of the front gate caught her attention. It could only mean Stuart was leaving. Part of her wanted to go after him to say she was sorry for her harsh words, the other part was still too angry. Her poor, dear cousin had been through so much. His mother had been a cruel woman who used to beat him. Once, she’d locked him in a chamber for three days, without food or water, because she claimed he was too attached to her.

Della’s pain had been intense and lasted only one dreadful night. Stuart’s pain hadn’t been as concentrated, but had been drawn out over many years. Often, they’d found solace only in each other’s company. Stuart had lived at Strathfeld for a short time after the death of his mother, about the same time as her own mother’s demise.

She detested herself for not showing Stuart more consideration, but how could she? He’d been so unreasonable during the game. And to imply she’d done something improper with him was inexcusable. He’d been treading on very dangerous ground and could have done her great harm with his carelessness.

Brant was no better, all but saying in detail what had gone on between them. She was mortified by the very thought of speaking aloud of what had transpired. It was somewhat of a double standard, for she had told Stuart that they consummated the marriage. The difference was she had told him as a loyal friend. Brant had used it as a taunt.

She felt awful. Why were they doing this? It wasn’t as if Stuart was madly in love with her and he’d always said he didn’t want the title given to her husband.

“What are you thinking, just now?”

Della felt Brant’s voice drift over her like the heat of a warm flame. She’d sensed he was near before he spoke. Looking down, the weed she poked was shredded into several pieces, but was still rooted into the ground.

“I wasn’t pining for Stuart if that’s what you’re suggesting,” she snapped, unable to help her wayward tongue.

“I didn’t say that.” Brant took a step toward her.

Della turned to study him in the moonlight. His hair flashed silver, except for the streak that was bound as usual in a braid. Whiskers along his jaw glimmered in the luminescence of the moon. He was a striking figure and she wondered, if they were to grow old together, if he would still take her breath away every time she saw him. Somehow, she thought he just might.